This blog is devoted to the poetry and other lyrical writings of Dr Karl Shuker - in particular his published volume of poetry, 'Star Steeds and Other Dreams' (CFZ Press: Bideford, 2009). Dr Karl Shuker is best known as a zoologist, cryptozoologist, and author of numerous non-fiction books and articles, but he is also a longstanding poet, as revealed and promoted by this blog.

How to purchase Star Steeds and Other Dreams

If you wish to buy this book, which is 230 pages long and is ISBN 978-1-905723-40-9, it is readily available online from its publisher, CFZ Press of Bideford, Devon, UK at http://www.cfz.org.uk/ and also from such major literary websites as Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Waterstones, W H Smith, and sellers on AbeBooks to name but a few. You can also purchase a signed copy directly from me, the author - please email me at karlshuker@aol.com for full details.

Available from Amazon.com , from Amazon.co.uk , and directly from the publisher in quantities at: www.cfz.org.uk.

Friday, 20 April 2012

Time-slips are fascinating if baffling concepts, which I have utilised in this story poem. Although I haven’t stated it explicitly, I’m sure you’ll realise that instead of the monk being in the distant past (as the child narrating this poem assumes), in reality he is in the distant future, because the finding of the Cross after meeting the monk inspires the child to become a monk –the monk. In other words, the monk that the child meets is himself, as he will become in the future.

THE MONASTERY

One pleasant country afternoonThrough lonely woods I strolled,When hazy mists began to fallIn swirling cloudy foldsAnd blinded every beam of light,None penetrating through,Until at last the mists dispersed,And rose through skies of blue.

And high above, unseen by all,A singing nightingale,Whose liquid trills and lilting notesSailed through each wooded vale.Sing sweetly, little philomel,Bring happiness to all –Shy minstrel of the dusky night,Of silent eveningfall.

And through this garden walked a monk,A prayer book in his hand.He heard the nightingale, and smiledTo hear the merry bandOf feathered singers in the trees,As thrushes joined the choir,Till warbling music filled the airAs breezes sent it higher.

And velvet bumblebees buzzed nearEach nectar-brimming flower,While gaily-spotted ladybirdsFlew by from bloom to bower.And as he saw each tiny life,The monk’s heart filled with joy,As he remembered happy daysWhen he was once a boy –

A quiet boy who loved God’s worksOf beauty, true and mild.And so his life he gave to God,To seek our Lord’s paths mild.But now he turned, and passed from sightBeyond the shadowed trees,And then another mist appeared,Upon the evening breeze.

And when it lifted from my eyes,The monastery had gone.And as for garden, glades, and flowers,Of these there now was none.For all were ghosts from other times,Those realms of glades and moss.But then, beneath a grassy bower,I spied a golden Cross –

The Cross that hung around the neckOf that mild monk I saw.A Sign that spanned the straits of TimeTo lie on grass beforeA silent child in country lanesWhose youthful fears now thawed.Yes, blessed are the pure in heart,For they shall see the Lord.

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